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The First Song of Janna Farwind
by L. Kinyon
“Water?” he said. “I mean, do you want some? Water, I mean.” He proffered a canteen.
It was in a small dusty village on the eastern slope of Feather Peak in the southern reaches of the Hamtekts that Janna Farwind met the man from Roarke. A trader, she surmised, taking in high boots and a split sheepskin greatcoat casually laid on a fence rail behind him. A midnight blue hat with a beaten silver band slouched over his eyes shading his face against the sun. When he removed it to wipe his brow on a kerchief the desert sun wove gold into his autumn brown braids. He looked up from his crouching position leaning against a standing rock. She saw a man that she knew she would never forget and drew a breath.
“Thank you. New Day, friend.” She greeted him politely.
“It is a lovely day,” he said, standing up awkwardly, with his hat in his hands. “Not too hot.”
She smiled, an outsider, then. “I am Janna Farwind.”